


inevitable

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Erotic Shoulder Rubs, Hand Jobs, Holden Ford's Headfucking, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: ... This massage is wildly different from the ones he used to give his mother. In a whole other fucking ballpark, not even the same game. It’s a loophole, a back door that Holden had left open by accident, giving Bill permission to touch him after Bill had tried so hard to stop himself from doing just that for the past few months.A platonic shoulder rub inevitably turns into something more.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97





	inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to purplebeetle on tumblr for the request: Bill, sitting behind Holden and rubbing his tense shoulders, which causes Holden to gasp, moan and make other noises that sound erotic and at some point even grabs Bill's knee, and Bill just can't help himself not to kiss the nape of his neck.

Bill stands under the soothing spray of the shower for a long time, letting the tension unwind from his muscles under the duress of the powerful water pressure. He’d promised Holden to leave some warm water for him, but he keeps lingering a few minutes longer, hoping to wash away the last of the grime from the Huttonsville Correctional Center. The water is hot, but there isn’t enough hot water or soap in the world to sanitize away what they’ve just been through.

They’d decided to drive to West Virginia for the two interviews since it’s only four hours from Fredericksburg and not worth a plane ticket. After leaving at seven o’clock in the morning, they’d arrived at the correctional facility around eleven to speak to their first subject. Breaking for lunch at one, they’d gone directly into the second interview while their food was still digesting. 

No matter how many times they talk to these offenders or hear the most twisted stories of violent, sexual deviancy, Bill never gets used to it. It never stops getting under his skin, and making him sick. He’d be kidding himself if he thought six hours straight of talking to two multiple murderers wouldn’t wear him down. 

Bill drags himself out of the shower, and puts on his sweatpants and undershirt. When he emerges into the hotel room, Holden is sitting on the edge of the bed with his head lowered and his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“You okay?” Bill asks. 

“Oh, I think I pulled a muscle in my neck this morning when I fell asleep in the car.” Holden says, uttering a sigh. “Spending six hours inside the correctional facility with my shoulders up around my ears did not help it at all.” 

“I know what you mean.” Bill says, “We need to hire a masseuse to come with us on these trips.” 

Holden chuckles. “That sounds divine.” 

Bill shuffles closer as Holden continues massaging his neck and shoulder. 

“I can feel the knot.” Holden says, digging his fingers into the muscle. 

It wasn’t so long ago that Bill was grumbling for Holden to get his own room, and sit on his own bed. The thought sails across the back of his mind, his first impulse; but maybe Huttonsville and their two subjects have him more worn down than he originally thought. 

“Here, let me.” He says, nudging Holden’s hands out of the way. 

Holden’s chin lifts from its dour position against his chest as Bill’s hands settle on his shoulders. From his angle above Holden, Bill can see the faint flush that crawls up his cheeks at the sudden contact. 

Bill thinks about retrieving his hands, but he’s already gone too far. His hands are on Holden, feeling the warmth of his skin barely concealed by the thin layer of his t-shirt, enjoying the minute shiver that he can feel rippling through Holden’s body. 

He begins to gently massage Holden’s shoulders, testing the tension in his muscles and searching for the knot Holden had complained of. He can feel it bundled just below his neck, right where the muscle goes deep into his shoulder. 

Holden sighs in relief. “Right there.” 

Bill pushes his thumb into the taut muscle, rubbing in a slow, deep circle. 

“Oh, ow.” Holden whimpers, his back arching when Bill’s touch hits deep. 

“Sorry.” Bill murmurs, easing the force of his hands. 

“No, it’s okay.” Holden says, “It was a good pain.”

Bill sits down on the edge of the bed, and Holden turns fully so that his back is facing him. His shoulders tense and relax in alternating shivers as Bill continues massaging, working deeper into the tense muscles. 

Holden sighs aloud, letting his head drop. 

“Good?” Bill asks, managing a light-hearted chuckle. 

“Yeah.” Holden says, his voice a strangled whimper. “You’re … you’re really good at this.”

“My mom worked two jobs.” Bill says, “I used to do this for her all the time when I was kid.” 

It’s the only thing he can think of to distract himself from the fact that this massage is wildly different from the ones he used to give his mother. In a whole other fucking ballpark, not even the same game. It’s a loophole, a back door that Holden had left open by accident, giving Bill permission to touch him after Bill had tried so hard to stop himself from doing just that for the past few months. 

“Your mom was a lucky lady.” Holden murmurs, leaning back into the forceful drag of Bill’s thumbs following the line of shoulders. 

“Feeling better?” Bill asks, trying to sound casual even as his chest pounds. 

He wants Holden to say yes, and tell him he can stop even though he knows nobody on the receiving end of this kind of massage would ever cut him off after just a few minutes. But, he isn’t going to say it himself even though he should. 

“Yeah.” Holden whispers. “Can you do that thing again?” 

“What thing?” 

“The good pain.” Holden says, tilting his head to one side. “I can still feel the knot.” 

“Yeah, it’s in there good.” Bill mutters, locating the tender spot with his thumb again. 

“I can handle it.” 

“Can you?”

“Mhmm.” Holden murmurs, his voice quietly choked into a slight groan. 

Bill shifts closer. Smoothing his palm across the back of Holden’s neck, he gently guides it to the side, opening up the shoulder where the tension is gathered. Holden softly shudders beneath the caress, and makes a sighing sound of pleasure as both of Bill’s thumbs narrow in on the knotted muscle. 

Bill digs his thumbs in carefully, going slowly and deeply into the tissue. 

Holden moans aloud, his body stiffening on the edge of the mattress. 

“Relax.” Bill says, “It’s not going to release if you keep tensing up like that.”

“Sorry.” Holden says, his voice tangled up with a groan. 

His shoulders go lax beneath Bill’s touch, but as soon as Bill starts applying pressure again, he squirms helplessly. 

Bill bites the inside of his cheek as Holden whines, expelling tiny, panting whimpers through his nose. His face goes hot as the question of whether or not that’s what it sounds like when Holden is aroused pops up out of nowhere in the back of his mind. 

Without thinking, he rubs his thumbs in harder, maybe a little bit too hard. 

Holden yelps, and grabs onto his knee. 

“Sorry.” Bill mutters, breathlessly. 

He stares at Holden’s fingers wrapped around his knee, feeling the contact humming through his body even before his brain can register that it’s actually happening. 

Holden gasps softly as the pressure lets up. “I think that was it.”

“Okay, let me see.” Bill whispers, swallowing hard. 

He carefully tugs the neckline of Holden’s shirt back to run his thumb gently across bare skin. The skin is rubbed red from the force of the massage, but it’s soft and delicate beneath Bill’s grazing touch. 

Holden shudders as Bill’s fingertips wander across his shoulder, and against his nape. He arches against the touch, uttering a quiet, choked sound. His fingers are still latched around Bill’s knee. He isn’t recoiling or telling Bill to stop. No, he’s encouraging this softer, searching touch; but maybe that’s just Bill’s imagination. 

Bill pauses to draw in a deep breath, trying desperately to clear his head. 

_ Get your hands off him before you do something stupid.  _

His hands don’t obey. They’re roaming up against Holden’s neck, nails slightly scratching at the sensitive skin of his hairline, easing Holden’s head forward into submission. Holden sighs quietly as Bill applies a gentle massage to his neck, obliterating any lingering tension. 

“Oh, Bill … that feels good.” Holden whispers, sounding on the verge of arousal. 

Bill clutches Holden’s shoulder with his other hand, dragging it back towards him. 

Holden leans into the guiding pull of Bill’s hands, his body pliant and willing. He’s humming in the back of his throat now, low and earthy vibrations that encourage the lust gathering in hot, aching waves low in Bill’s belly. 

His eyes slip open to scan Holden’s arched back, his skin red beneath the edge of his collar, his neck open and inviting. Bill leans in closer, and he can smell Holden’s skin, his cologne masking the lingering, musky scent of the correctional facility. Before he can stop himself, he dips his fingers into Holden’s hair and drags his head back. His mouth collides with Holden’s nape, planting a firm, heated kiss behind his earlobe, just where his hairline meets sensitive skin. 

Holden tenses against him, a staggered gasp escaping his throat. Bill’s fingers tangle in the hair at his crown, keeping his head tilted back into the kiss even as he begins to squirm. 

Bill smears a row of wet, desperate kisses down the back of Holden’s neck, tasting his skin, reveling in its softness, longing to feel every inch of it quivering beneath his touch. He does it before his mind can catch up with him and tell him to stop, before logic can pierce the taut, breathless desire humming like electricity between them. 

“Bill …” Holden whimpers, his fingers locking tighter around Bill’s knee. “What are you …?”

Bill pulls back, gasping in a breath. His head is spinning, and he feels dizzy with the sudden surge of adrenaline and need pounding through his veins. 

Holden turns around to stare at Bill agape. His cheeks are flushed rosy pink, his pupils blown with tell-tale arousal. 

“Fuck.” Bill mutters, shifting back along the edge of the mattress to put some space between them. His cock is half-hard against his boxers, blatant; he doesn’t try to hide it somehow even as he flushes hard at the graze of Holden’s eyes across his lap. 

“Sorry, that was …” Bill begins, his voice choked with humiliation and disbelief. 

Holden’s gaze darts away from Bill’s as he reaches up to gingerly touch the back of his neck where Bill’s mouth had just been. His cheeks are flushed, but he isn’t silent out of shame. Bill can see the thoughts and conclusion turning behind his eyes, analyzing their relationship backwards and forwards from this moment. 

Bill’s chest grips with horror.  _ Can’t put that genie back in its bottle.  _

He rises from the bed, and walks away, rubbing a hand over his face. He pauses to gather himself, staring at the faded, floral wallpaper of the hotel room until the reality of what he’s just done starts to sink in with the tangible fixtures around them. 

“I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.” He says, bracing his hands on his hips. 

Holden sits silently on the bed. He’s still not saying anything which is the most unnerving thing about the entire encounter - Holden struck speechless. 

Bill turns slowly to peek across the room at him. 

“I, uh … things haven’t been good between me and Nancy, and I just-” He begins, realizing how weak the explanation sounds even as he says. 

Holden’s eyes slowly journey from the carpet to meet Bill’s. The density of the silence between them compounds into a suffocating weight. Finally, Holden nods as if he understands. 

“I’m gonna go outside and smoke.” Bill says.

He grabs his cigarettes and lighter from the nightstand, and marches toward the door. 

“Bill.” Holden’s hoarse whisper stops him. 

He grips the doorknob, fighting the urge to turn around, knowing he’ll be devastated by the look in Holden’s ocean blue eyes if he does. 

“It’s okay.” Holden says, quietly. “I’m not mad.” 

“Well, you should be.” 

Bill yanks the door open, and slips outside. The West Virginian air is a sweet, summertime balm, driven by a breeze rolling down from the towering mountains. Their dark outlines black out half the sky, leaving jagged edges of starlit bleeding over the edges and the moon sitting on the tip of one high hill as if it's touching down on the tightly packed trees. It’s a strange surrounding feeling, but Bill already knows he’s trapped by his own mistakes and not that indifferent peak. He was fucked before he walked into that hotel room, before he laid a single finger on Holden - only now there’s no going back. 

~

They don’t talk about it. 

For the next few weeks, Bill focuses intently on work and keeping a professional distance between him and Holden. Sometimes, he catches Holden staring across the basement at him, a twisted curiosity blooming in his eyes. Bill wouldn’t call the look desirous or anything so presumptuous; rather, it’s more like the fascinated attention Holden gives their subjects. 

Bill feels so ashamed with himself that he accepts that comparison without complaint. If only he could dump his feelings into the file cabinet with the rest of the unsolved cases, and lock the door forever he might get a reprieve from his own guilty machinations. 

When they’re at work with Wendy and case files and psychotic killers, that guilt is almost enough to drown him. It’s only when he’s laying in bed at night, cloaked in darkness, that his thoughts turn a different direction, reliving the moment when Holden’s skin was under his mouth and plunging into the hot twitch of need the memory incites. 

He’s tried applying the desires in Nancy’s direction, but she coldly declines, claiming she’s too tired or not in the mood. And after their argument over Brian finding the crime scene photo and their babysitter quitting, she’s barely looking at him. 

As he’s getting ready to leave for an interview in Minnesota, she tells him that she’s going to take Brian and spend a few days with her mother. She’s used this passive-aggressive maneuver so many times that he just shrugs and says okay. The rejection is supposed to sting. Instead, he’s looking forward to having the house to himself for one or two days when he gets back. 

The interview goes as well as he can expect with his thoughts scattered to the four corners of the earth. Holden does most of the talking while he tries to take decent notes, thankful they have the tape recorder to pick up the slack. By that evening, they’re back on the plane, descending into Dulles on a half-empty flight filled mostly with business men and women who keep to themselves. 

The small, canned light above Holden’s window seat illuminates the concentrated lines of his face in egg yolk yellow. He has his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened while he peruses the dossier on the interview subject. The crime scene photos, spattered in blood, barely offer a distraction as Bill’s gaze wanders over his bare forearms, the faint dusting of hair, and the scattering of tiny birthmarks. Now he knows that Holden’s skin is just as soft as it looks, and he can’t get that distinction out of his head. 

When they land, they head down to baggage claim. The carousel cranks out suitcases to the weary travelers gathered quietly in the deserted, nighttime bowels of the airport. 

“Got any plans this weekend?” Holden asks. 

“Nope.” Bill says, “Nancy and Brian are visiting her mom so I’ll probably just stay home, watch some TV, maybe try to do some yardwork.” 

“Oh.” Holden says, “Sounds relaxing.” 

Bill shrugs. “What about you?” 

“The same.” Holden says, “Debbie is done with the semester so she and some friends are going to the music festival in Richmond.” 

“You’re not going with?” 

“No, they were leaving tonight.” Holden says, checking his watch. “They’re already gone, actually.” 

“Oh.” Bill says. 

They part ways in the parking garage, and Bill drives home with the radio playing loudly to drown out his thoughts. The house is silent and dark like a tomb when he arrives. He sits in the car, letting the engine idle for a long moment. The weekend stretches out ahead of him, empty hours waiting to be filled with something other than the reckless crash of his memory and impulse. If he simply closes his eyes, he can still hear Holden’s quiet moans being jarred free by the press of his hands. He’ll have to find something to do to distract himself. 

As Bill gets out of the car and climbs the steps to the front door, he starts compiling a list of tasks in his head to keep himself occupied while Nancy and Brian are gone. Letting himself inside, he flicks on the lamp, and scans the living room. For the first time in a while, there’s no one here to judge him, but he almost wishes there was just so he could have some barrier or accountability. 

He gets a shower first, then goes into the kitchen and locates the Tupperware of cold, leftover lasagna Nancy had left in the fridge. He eats it in silence standing over the island counter, listening to the house settle around him. When the container is empty, he throws it in the dishwasher, and pours himself a glass of whiskey. 

He sprawls on the couch with the glass, and turns on the television at low volume. The news report droning from the screen barely offers a distraction as his sudden lack of inertia drops him off in the deep end of his thoughts. In a matter of seconds, his eyes are slipping shut over the memory. It glimmers in his mind like a rock pulled out of a riverbed, rubbed smooth by the tide going over it again and again. Holden’s taut muscles rolling beneath his palms, his back shuddering into a luscious arch, his voice choking with satisfied moans - it’s the closest thing to sex Bill has had in awhile, hotter than any mindless rutting he and Nancy have managed when they’re angry enough with each other to fuck. If he had kept going just a bit farther, the line might have melted to an indistinguishable blur. 

Bill opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling of the living room. He doesn’t have to look down to realize his cock is tenting his trousers. He resists for the space of a second before he sets the whiskey glass down on the carpet, and reaches down with trembling hands to unzip. 

He bites back a gasp as the fabric falls open, letting his cock lurch up against the thin barrier of his boxers. He hesitates again, choking on the acid taste of shame, but the hot need clutching between his thighs is too much to bear. He slips his hand underneath the boxers, and takes his throbbing cock in his fist. 

A choked cry jumps from his throat, echoing against the silent walls of the living room. He clenches his jaw against it, and sucks in deep breath. As his hand drags down the hard length, his mouth falls open again, releasing a low, gasping noise of pleasure. The pleasure rolls through him, deep and aching. He can already feel his groin going tight and tingly as he doles out a slow, firm caress. 

His eyes roll back and his back arches as the need clamps in rifts through his body. He’s breathing in stammered, broken gasps, watching the tide of pleasure swell in a gradual descent towards him when the sound of a fist pounding on his front door nearly causes his heart to leap out of his chest. 

Bill sits upright on the couch, yanking his hand out of his pants. His chest pounds with racing, humiliated panic. His first thought is that it’s Nancy coming home early, but he quickly realizes that would be silly since she wouldn’t be knocking on her own front door. 

Leaping to his feet, he quickly zips his pants back up, and untucks his button-down so that the long front of it conceals his erection that’s already flagging from alarm. The knock comes again, and he rushes across the carpet to peer through the diamond-shaped window. 

He freezes when he sees Holden standing on the other side. For a moment, he thinks about not opening the door, and pretending he isn’t home. But his car is in the driveway, and he’d already told Holden he didn’t have plans of going anywhere. 

Cursing himself, Bill yanks the door open. 

Holden had taken his jacket and tie off, leaving him in his button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His hands are tucked casually in his pockets. 

“Holden,” Bill says, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doing here?” 

“Can I come in?” Holden asks. 

“I, uh … sure.” 

Bill watches in growing bewilderment as he pulls the door open, and Holden walks past him, his expression serene and unperturbed. 

“What’s going on?” Bill asks, pushing the door shut. 

“It came back.” Holden says, not turning to look at Bill as he surveys the living room. 

“What did?” 

“The knot.”

Bill clenches his jaw as his pulse spikes. His stupid cock is still half-hard and begging for release, getting a little kick of exhilaration out of Holden’s suggestive tone. 

“Holden-”

Holden turns slowly to meet Bill’s gaze. His eyes are reserved yet gleaming in the low lamplight. He licks his lips, the first sign that he's anxious in any way. 

“I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt.” Holden says, his tone even despite the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. 

Bill wonders if he’s ever done something like this - tried to get a married man to touch him. Probably not. But he’s good at acting like it doesn’t bother him. 

“Can you do it again?” Holden asks. The question sounds innocent enough. A bystander might even assume that he’s only talking about a shoulder massage. 

Bill gazes back at him, fighting the urge to simply give in. It seems too easy that Holden is standing here in his living room, saying everything he wants to hear, and acting like he reciprocates all of the desires Bill has been carrying on his shoulders like his own cross to bear these past several months. 

“Please?” Holden asks, his voice carrying quietly, almost inaudibly across the room. 

Bill swallows hard. He knows what Holden is asking, and it has nothing to do with tense shoulders or platonic massages. He knows that look, those flushed cheeks, that choked voice even if he’s never seen all of them on Holden before. 

“I don’t know …” Bill says, nervously scratching the back of his neck. 

He pauses, his heart seizing in his chest when Holden reaches up to unbutton his shirt. He stands there thinking that he should stop Holden, or open his mouth to protest; but in the time it takes him to work past his disbelief, all of the buttons are plied open and the shirt is slipping from Holden’s shoulders. It falls to the ground at his feet, a patch of blue on the drab, taupe carpet. 

“This is a bad idea.” Bill says. 

“What? A shoulder rub?” 

Bill’s eyes narrow, a frustrated sigh pushing past his nostrils. Holden’s expression is fixed in an innocent, doe-eyed gaze. They hold each other’s stares for a minute before Holden sits down on the edge of the couch, turned to the side so that his back is facing Bill. 

Bill tears his gaze from Holden. He focuses on a blemish in the wall paint, trying to tell himself to be rational. But he’d had his hard dick in his hand only a minute ago, and he knows rationality and logic have already deserted him tonight. 

Before he can stop himself, he’s walking across the carpet to where Holden is seated. Holden's head is turned down, neck open like a little lamb to the slaughter - only Bill knows that Holden isn’t that innocent, and he’s getting played like a fucking violin. 

He wipes his palms on his trouser legs before putting them on Holden’s shoulders. The contact is light, innocuous, but Holden shivers. His shoulders roll back against Bill’s touch, encouraging his fingers to squeeze. 

Bill applies a hesitant touch. His pulse is pounding in his ears, and he hopes Holden can’t feel the tremors through his palms. He focuses on the back of Holden’s neck, the fine baby hairs curling from his nape and down the sides of his neck, the knobs of his spine emerging against the taut skin as he lowers his head. Warmth seeps through his t-shirt into Bill’s hands, growing hotter as the friction builds. His shoulders are relaxed this time, accepting the grind and squeeze of Bill’s thumbs and fingers without tensing up. 

Holden sighs aloud, a breathy noise that interrupts the stifling silence of the house. 

Bill feels his knees go weak. 

“Don’t stop.” Holden murmurs when Bill’s hands go limp against his shoulders. 

Bill sinks down to the edge of the couch behind him, channeling whatever strength is left in his body into the massage. 

Holden groans as Bill’s thumbs drag across the tension in his shoulders, going deeper into the tissue. 

“Ah, yes.” He murmurs, his head lolling from side to side in serendipitous relief. “That’s good.” 

Bill lowers his head, staring at the curve in Holden’s spine. He thinks he should really stop this. He should yell at Holden to get dressed, stop acting like some cheap whore. They’re both in committed relationships, and this is debasing both of them to gross sexual creatures, not quite unlike the people they study every day. But he’s already lost his mind so he keeps massaging, listening to Holden’s sighs and whimpers of satisfaction, feeling his cock getting harder and harder in his pants. 

“Harder.” Holden moans, pushing back against the pressure of Bill’s hands. 

Bill feels his face go hot, unable to suppress the thought of Holden’s moaning the same exact thing while getting fucked within an inch of his life. He withdraws his hands abruptly, and scoots back across the cushions. His body is flushing hot in waves, and his cock is hard, and he can’t fucking think straight. 

“Why are you stopping?” Holden asks, turning to look over his shoulder, an impertinent pout on his lips. 

“Stop.” Bill says, pushing anger into his voice. 

“Stop what?”

“I said stop.” Bill says, rising to his feet. “Stop acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Holden blinks up at him, crimson flooding his cheeks. The truth is shining clearly in his eyes even as he clings to this image of blissful oblivion. 

“What is wrong with you?” Bill demands. “I made a mistake, and now you’re trying to manipulate me into repeating it.” 

Holden’s jaw clenches, the mask of innocence dropping from his face. His eyes harden as he shoots Bill a glare. “Don’t you want to?” 

“Yes, but-”

“But what?” Holden asks, “You said it yourself. Nancy is gone for the weekend, and you aren’t getting along. You’re lonely and-”

“I didn’t say that.” Bill says, sharply. 

“Well, not in those exact words, but-”

“Lonely and horny are not interchangeable.” Bill says, though he doesn’t know why it matters. He’s just arguing because he knows if he stops he’s going to do something stupid, something irreversible. 

“So, you’re horny.” Holden says. “So am I.” 

“You’ve got a girlfriend.” 

“You’ve got a wife.”

Bill stares at him, his mouth slipping open in disbelief. Not with himself - he’s over believing he’s a good person who would never cheat on his wife; but he’d spent the past year working with Holden thinking he was purely driven snow, naive, sexually oblivious. Every single one of those conclusions are shot down in a second, imploding inside the fiery light leaping from Holden’s dark blue eyes. 

Bill draws in a hitched breath, and rubs a hand over his forehead. 

“Come here.” Holden murmurs, nodding his head for Bill to get closer to him again. 

Bill doesn’t know why he obeys, but he does. He shifts across the cushions until he’s sitting right behind Holden again, their bodies no more than a few inches apart. 

Holden reaches down to untuck the hem of his t-shirt, and slowly pulls it off over his head. 

Bill watches the shirt rise up his bare back, stretch past his pale shoulders, and come off over his head, leaving Holden’s hair disheveled. His skin is pale and flawless against the aged, pea green of the couch cushions, an exotic anomaly dropped down in the middle of Bill’s bland, cookie-cutter life, a live hand grenade he’s throwing himself on top of - not out of anything so noble as sacrifice, but out of some self-destructive impulse to take his needs as far into the ground as Holden is willing to dig this grave. 

The shirt sails to the ground, and Bill feels his inhibitions start to crumble with it. 

“Keep going.” Holden whispers, his voice a low and throaty vibration that Bill has never heard before. 

He hesitates, his hands curled into fists in his lap. 

“Please.” Holden presses, casting a heavy-lidded glance over his shoulder at Bill. “Touch me.” 

Bill extends trembling hands to touch Holden’s bare shoulders. The contact feels like electricity against his palms, the terminus of every lie he’s ever tried to tell himself. Holden’s skin is like spun silk beneath his hands, stretching delicately across toned muscle and bone, prickling with tantalized goosebumps at the slightest caress.

Holden shudders, his back arching as Bill’s fingertips wander down his shoulder blades. He’s suddenly quiet, his effusive whimpers locked behind his clenched jaw, letting this moment drown in bursting, humming silence. 

Bill follows the curve of his spine with the back of his fingers, noting the constellation of birthmarks beneath his caress, the fine hairs standing to attention at the base of his spine. The scattered freckles are the only blemish on Holden’s skin, as if he’s been left untouched by every harsh thing, untainted; and Bill is about to stain him irreversibly with the enormity of his darkest desires. 

Holden’s head tilts back as Bill leans in to press his mouth slowly to his neck. The kiss plants itself at his hairline, starting out gradual and controlled, but slipping open into a wet caress as Bill works his way lower. 

“Mmm …” Holden hums a pleased sound in the back of his throat as Bill’s hands backtrack up his spine. 

Bill spreads his fingers across Holden’s shoulder blades, and allows his nails to scratch as they reach up over Holden’s shoulders and across his deltoids. His palms smooth down Holden’s upper arms and curl around the biceps. 

Bill pulls Holden back against him by the arms, and Holden moans aloud. His head tilts back in an arch of pleasure as Bill’s mouth latches against his neck, suckling on tender skin below his earlobe. 

“Oh, Bill…” Holden moans, the cry stammering in exhilaration from his chest. 

Bill lets go of Holden’s right arm to clutch at his chest, catching Holden’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The tender bud of skin rolls across his thumb, instantly going rigid to the coarse stroke. 

Holden twists instinctively against the tugging pressure, gasping out a sound of shock. 

Bill releases the skin from between his teeth, and pants hot breath against the stinging, slick skin. 

“Take off your pants.” He whispers roughly in Holden’s ear. 

Holden nods. He trembles in Bill’s embrace as he reaches down to unbuckle his belt. 

Bill presses a row of kisses along Holden’s shoulder as Holden fumbles with his pants. He continues rubbing at Holden’s nipple, enjoying the choked whimpers he elicits with every flick and tug. 

Holden manages to get his belt and zipper open, and eagerly shoves his trousers and briefs down in the same motion. The garments tangle around his ankles, but are quickly forgotten as Bill exchanges his grip on Holden’s nipple for his throbbing cock. 

“Oh my god.” Holden moans, arching back against Bill’s chest. He pants softly, casting a harried glance downward to glimpse Bill’s big, coarse hands wrapping around his cock. 

Bill presses closer, peering over Holden’s shoulder to share the view. The swollen, pink head juts past the circle of his hand, the tip spilling a pearly drop of pre-cum. Bill bites back a shudder of pleasure as he wonders whether Holden’s body is that undisciplined, or if he’s just that turned on to be on the verge of climax with barely a touch. 

He uses a controlled caress, massing firmly yet slowly up and down the pulsing shaft. He can feel the veins filling and throbbing under his grip, trying and trying to get harder, to get Holden closer to pleasure. 

Holden whimpers, and grabs onto Bill’s thigh. His knuckles blanch white with the force of it, but Bill ignores the faint pain. 

“Oh, fuck.” Holden whispers, his hips rocking up against Bill’s caress. “Faster.” 

Bill doesn’t have the will to say no to Holden right now, so he readily complies, stroking up and down Holden’s swollen cock at a quicker rhythm. 

“God, yes.” Holden groans, tilting his head back against Bill’s shoulder. His gaze focuses hazily on the ceiling before wrinkling and squeezing shut against a wave of pleasure. 

Bill tucks his cheek against Holden’s, joining the blazing heat on Holden’s skin with his own. Pressing a kiss to Holden’s neck, he feels the wildly pounding pulse at his jugular, and his throat bobbing in desperate, breathless swallows. 

The sound of Holden’s moans fills the empty corners of the house, frightening away gathering dust, painting the walls with a passion that’s been lacking for months, maybe even years. Bill rubs his thumb across the leaking pre-cum, and he thinks of it releasing across the couch cushions, forever staining this central, family monument with his cum. It gives him some kind of sick thrill, one that he can’t suppress with his hand wrapped around Holden’s dick.

“Bill, yes.” Holden pants, writhing against Bill’s chest. “I’m so close.” 

Bill presses his eyes shut as the admission sends heat coiling unbearably through his belly and into his groin. Between his thighs, need pulls taut, an ache so deep that he almost can’t bear it. 

He rubs harder at Holden’s cock, and feels Holden stiffen against him. 

“Ohh.” Holden moans, his breath catching in the back of his throat. His fingers tighten around Bill’s thigh, nails digging in. 

Silence swallows up the ragged whimpers. Holden is barely breathing as Bill strokes him over the edge, rubbing hard enough that the friction must be half-painful. The rigid tension in Holden’s body breaks with a deep shudder and a choked cry. 

Bill’s mouth slips open in pleasured awe as Holden’s cock erupts in his fist, releasing copious spurts of cum across Bill’s knuckles and his own belly. It keeps coming as the spasms roll through him, spattering himself in his release until it’s dribbling down his chest and belly in milky streams. He shudders helplessly even as the climax subsides, uttering quiet, gasping whimpers. 

Bill milks every last shiver and drop out of him with a firm grasp, squeezing remnants of cum from the wilting tip until Holden’s hips curl away from the touch, and he moans a raw plea for mercy. 

Bill’s hand slips away, letting Holden’s drained cock lapse against his thigh.

Holden sinks back against him, breathing in raspy gasps. His fingers have gone limp around Bill’s knee. 

Bill wraps an arm around Holden’s chest, drawing him closer. Lowering his head, he buries his mouth and nose in Holden’s neck. He thinks he should be a little angry with Holden right now, but in the aftermath, all he wants to do is hang on tightly. They’re each other’s only witness to this sinful pleasure, and without Holden he would be completely alone. 

After a few minutes, Holden’s breathing evens out. 

“Stay here.” Bill murmurs against his neck. 

Holden wilts forward, bracing his elbow against his knee as Bill slides out from behind him. 

Bill goes into the kitchen and finds a clean washcloth in the drawer. He soaks it in warm water, wrings out the excess, and carries it back into the living room. 

Holden is reclined against the cushions, his ankles still tied up in his bunched trousers and underwear. His cheeks are pink, his eyes glazed with bliss. The wrecked flush looks good on him, Bill decides. 

He sits down beside Holden, and silently wipes him down. He can feel Holden’s eyes on him the whole time, that same silent assessment that’s always present even when Holden is knee-deep in an orgasmic daze. 

“What?” Bill asks as he wipes away the last of cum from Holden’s chest. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“About what?” 

Holden’s tongue darts across his lower lip. “About sucking you off.” 

Bill curls his fist around the washcloth, his face going so hot he can feel his pulse in his ears. 

“Are you going to let me?” Holden asks, his tone matter-of-fact. 

Bill sets aside the washcloth, and tries to gather a response that doesn’t sound as devastated as he feels. 

“I, um …” Bill frowns, and presses his eyes shut. Yeah, devastated. 

“Here, lean back.” Holden says, crawling off the couch and onto his knees. 

Bill’s body sinks back into the cushions, unwilling to argue with Holden’s offer. How could he? It’s been way too long since he had a mouth - a willing mouth - on his cock. 

Bill’s knees are trembling as he opens them to let Holden slip between his thighs. He cracks his eyelids open to glimpse Holden’s fingers deftly unzipping his trousers, and tugging the fabric out of the way. He obediently lifts his hips to allow his pants and his boxers to slide down below his knees. His cock springs free of the constraints, rock hard and pulsing against his belly. 

Holden gasps a quiet sound of pleasure as he lays eyes on it. Half crawling across Bill’s lap, he curls his fingers around the root, and drags it towards his mouth. 

“Wait.” Bill gasps as he feels the heat of Holden’s breath curling across the engorged head. 

“What?” Holden asks, casting him an impatient gaze. 

“I, uh … I have a confession.” Bill says. 

Holden’s eyebrows rise, intrigued. “A confession?” 

“Yes, I … Before you got here, I was-”

Holden’s head tilts to one side, waiting for Bill to spit it out. 

“I was … masturbating.” 

Holden’s mouth squirms against a smile. “Thinking about me?”

Bill draws in a deep breath. “Yes. So, I … I’ve been on the edge ever since you got here.” 

“Don’t worry.” Holden murmurs, stroking his hand absently over Bill’s cock. “I won’t judge you if you come the second I put my mouth on you.”

“Okay, it’s not going to be that fast.” 

Holden’s eyebrow cocks. He’s so self-assured that Bill nearly wants to kick him off, but his cock is aching so deeply that he doesn’t know if he can stand another five minutes of this intense arousal. 

“Just do it.” Bill grunts, shifting his hips up against Holden’s casual touch. 

Holden chuckles softly as he leans forward. His tongue darts across his lower lip just before he opens his mouth to take Bill’s swollen, leaking head into his mouth. 

Bill gasps, nearly bolting up from the couch cushions. 

Holden’s mouth is so slick and velvet soft, eagerly taking Bill’s cock one inch at a time. He keeps going down and down, all the way until Bill feels the back of his tongue, his cock butting up against the recesses of his hard palate. 

“Jesus.” Bill groans, delving his fingers into Holden’s hair. 

Holden hums a response as he comes back up, drooling saliva all over Bill’s cock. He swallows around a mouthful of cock, and quickly sucks down, applying more pressure this time. 

Bill’s hips jolt up against the wet stroke, pleasure already singing hotly through his veins. Everything goes tight and humming, the ache between his thigh intensifying until he’s almost dizzy with it, hearing himself panting helpless, choked whimpers. 

Then, Holden settles into a steady rhythm that quickly destroys whatever was left of Bill’s resolve. One hand grips around the root, squeezing up against the descent of his lips while his mouth works devious, brilliant pleasure across the pulsing head and shaft. His mouth is so wet, Bill thinks. It’s all he can think about - how slick Holden’s lips and tongue are against him, how that combined with the perfect amount of pressure is quickly tipping him over the edge. 

He clings onto Holden’s hair, fighting the rising wave of tingles for the space of a few seconds before it comes crashing through him, an unstoppable wave of spasms that shake him to the core. He groans aloud and his hips shudder up against Holden’s mouth, but everything has blanked to blinding, white-hot bliss. He can’t focus on anything other than the deep, hard rifts of orgasm shooting through him, finally, mercifully relieving him of the dull ache he’s been ignoring for weeks. He can almost feel himself draining into Holden’s mouth, releasing over and over; and each time he thinks he’s reached the peak and the pleasure is about to fade, another wave comes in to devastate him, stripping the pent-up needs down to nothing. 

After a brief eternity, Bill sinks down against the cushions, panting heavily. His ears are ringing as he slips his eyelids open, glimpsing Holden through a pleasure haze. 

Holden leans back on his heels, and grabs the discarded washcloth to spit into. His mouth and chin are dripping with the excess, milky white against the scarlet flush and rubbed-raw red of his lips. 

Bill tries to move, but he feels boneless and limp. A groan registers in the back of his throat. 

Holden wipes his chin, and tosses the washcloth aside again. Crawling up onto the couch beside Bill, he lowers his head to Bill’s shoulder, and puts a hand on his thigh. 

Bill closes his eyes, clinging onto the lingering sense of satisfaction before the guilt comes crashing down on him. It’s an inevitability, just like Holden. 

After several minutes, Holden gets up, and puts his clothes back on. 

Bill pulls his own trousers back up around his waist, and peeks at Holden while he tries to get his weak fingers to button them. 

Holden buttons his shirt up, and tucks it into his trousers meticulously. The clothes had sustained some wrinkles after lying on the floor for half an hour, and Holden's hair is a disheveled mess. Bill thinks he should savor this moment because he may never see Holden so awry ever again. 

Holden checks his watch. “I should go.” 

Bill nods. He’s silent, trying to gauge Holden’s state of mind. 

“I was on my way to the supermarket.” Holden says, “I don’t have any milk.” 

Bill climbs to his feet, and braces his hands on his hips. “So … this wasn’t planned.” 

“Of course not.” 

Bill frowns, softly. “You seemed like you knew what you wanted when you walked in the door.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I did.” Holden says, “I thought I wanted to go buy some milk.”

Bill feels a smile tug at his mouth. “Yeah. I thought I wanted to drink alone.” 

“And masturbate?” Holden asks, his eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness of the living room. 

Bill scoffs. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Holden lowers his head, a faint smile curling his mouth. He’s quiet for a moment before he leans in to press a chaste kiss to Bill’s cheek. 

“See you Monday.” He murmurs. 

He slips past Bill to the front door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, and Bill thinks he’s about to make some kind of confession or worse: say that this was a mistake. Instead, he casts Bill a fond smile, and steps outside. The door swings shut behind him. 

Bill stands in the middle of the living room while he listens to Holden’s car start and the engine rumble as it accelerates down the road. The house is quiet again, dark corners draped in solitude. Bill keeps waiting for the guilt to come down, stomping on the back of his neck, but there’s just the quiet, the lingering hum of satisfaction, and that sense of inevitability starting to feel more like relief.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!  
> 


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